


Happy Birthday Dean Winchester

by ChameleonPrints



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChameleonPrints/pseuds/ChameleonPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Dean's birthday and Cas has a surprise for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday Dean Winchester

Cas just showed up on his doorstep. Cas always just shows up, but today is Dean’s birthday and he wouldn’t have thought he… Time doesn’t seem to pass the same way… The angel’s point of view would appear to… Damn it, it’s a surprise, that’s all. 

When they hear the knock on the door Sam turns to his brother with one raised eyebrow: no more case, no expected visit, too far from Garth or any hunter they know… Do they know any other hunter? Of course they could not have expected Cas, he never knocks, he just shows up, usually right above Dean’s shoulder when he’s looking at something embarrassing online, and asks a silly question that startles the hunter. But when Sam goes to the door, it’s Cas, and Sam gives the angel the same raised-eyebrow look he just gave his brother, because no, this is not usual.  
It’s early in the morning, it feels like a sleepless night that never ended, Dean is barely awake and sipping his coffee while Sam’s on the computer, not really looking for a case, hoping for a phone call from Garth, almost like an assignment from the agency that would not have him look for anything. Of course Sam likes to do research, but with all that accumulated past doing research is geographically-dangerous, every part of the country has its history and its connections, being far from Lisa and Amelia matters, getting close to Bobby’s old place is not an option, Kansas makes them sad – not that they would say either of those things, but Sam knows and he feels he has to be too careful now. Getting to the hunt is a hassle, so they breathe easier when it’s a simple assignment, they get not to think, and not thinking is what they like best. 

Castiel stands in the doorway with his factory-built half-smile and even though Sam opened the door he is looking straight at Dean. Sam shrugs and waves him in with a ‘what brings you here Cas?’ that’s half-worried and half-curious. ‘I brought pie’ says the angel, and he remains under the door frame as if he wasn’t always welcome, as if he wasn’t part of their family, as if any motel room the brothers stay in wasn’t his home-away-from-home too. Sam can see his brother lighting up and he attributes it to his sweet tooth, as Cas finally comes in and slides the dinner-bought pecan pie on the night stand. Still he stands there awkwardly, his hands now trying to hide beneath his coat. ‘I hope you like it’, he says, and shuffles from one foot to the other, waiting. He looks back at Sam with a questioning look to which the younger brother doesn’t feel he holds the answer. Dean is still smirking and opens the box to smell the pie. The roasted pecans with brown sugar fill his sleepy nose with fragrance and cheer.  
-‘Well, don’t just stand there, do you want a piece?’  
Castiel, almost startled, seems not to have considered that option.  
-‘Do I? I have never had pecan pie before, Dean.’  
-‘Weren’t you missing something!’ he exclaims as he cleans his knife’s blade on his jeans and cuts into the golden delicacy, signaling for his brother to come along. Sam brings chairs and the angel lets himself be seated next to him. A hungry look on his face, Dean partitions the pie into five large portions and orients the box toward his friend. ‘Here, you go first.’  
He smiles at the worried look now painted on the angel’s face, who tries his damned hardest to pick the smallest slice. ‘It won’t bite you.’

After they each had a slice and Dean has had two, his inner-devil kicking in after good eats, the later looks up from licking his crumbs-covered fingers and finally asks: ‘was there a reason for the pie, Cas?’

Sam notices how his brother is enjoying himself, how positively glowing this is making him, and he thinks back of earlier birthdays, although mostly his own, when his older brother would make such an effort to transform the sad crappy motel rooms his father would have forgotten them in, into happy sugar-filled lands of rainbow candy and crispy wrapping paper – even when his gifts were a box of pop tarts and some Rollo Dean had borrowed from the closest petrol station. Sam knows how Dean’s never had even a birthday to compare to his own, even when John would grace them of his presence, which were rare and alcoholic occurrences. And ever since that’s what Dean’s birthdays had become: booze-filled, a rush to forget, not to face the absence of Mary and later on that of John. Sam therefore knows to treasure this one morning where the angel watching over them cared enough to show up, and he smiles at the sugar high, at the bright cold sun outside, glad to be able not to feel empty even though they’re not hunting, even though the laptop is closed on the table and he’s not searching. A distraction.

Castiel has eaten his whole slice and is eying the last one in the box, and Dean has noticed and won’t say anything, because he’s waiting for his reason. He’s happy enough to be playful and he wants to hear Cas say it, simply enough. Sam hasn’t, because Sam knows better than to wish him a happy anything any day of the year, but Cas is his last hope at being joyous today, because if Sam’s words would annoy him, Cas’ would fill him with pride. Pride is not the word Dean would have thought to come up with, but it’s the truth, he is already proud: that his angel thought of him today, that his friend cared enough to bring his feathery ass back from wherever he might have been to be with him a little while, on that not-very-special day he’d want to be special without being mature enough to admit it. In his mind, Dean is calling himself a pussy, as he glows out to his angel friend who cared. And so Cas turns his face away from the pie and looks up at the hunter, head held high, and says “Happy birthday, Dean” with confidence, and Dean melts a little inside. And Sam who doesn’t know where to look gets up and points toward the bathroom, signing he’s going to take a shower now, going unnoticed. 

Soon Dean feels himself redden under the angel’s gaze so he drags the pie between them and offers to share it and Cas’ hungry nodding makes him so happy he just wants to feed him the whole thing.  
-‘It’s a special day’ says Castiel, as they eat. ‘Maybe we should do something special.’  
It’s not really a question so Dean doesn’t feel like he has to answer.  
-‘I could take you somewhere.’

Dean thinks back of all his unhappy birthdays and of all the girls he let down on theirs. He wants to say that he was about to do something special, special like go down to the bar and grab a few drinks, maybe go to the liquor store for later. But Cas looks at him quizzically, as if to say that special is something you don’t do every day, and he wants to argue that he’d buy himself a better whiskey this time, but by the time he’s done with this little argument in his head, Cas’ hand is on his forearm and he sets his fork down and forgets. All there is to care about is that Castiel, the freakin’ angel from heaven, cares. He can’t even swear and he can’t really move either, but he can’t face Castiel’s gaze so he closes his eyes, oh, just for a second. 

When he opens them Cas is still looking at him even though it’s been longer than a second, and the angel is grinning now.  
-‘I thought you might like Paris,’ he says.  
But as Dean is about to open his mouth for a snarky remark on chick flicks and romanticism, he sees it. A huge door made of old stone with engravings on it, and now he notices there’s people all around, too, and it’s become really noisy, and they are not in a motel room somewhere in the fly-over states anymore, they really are in the old world: it smells like fruits and croissants and a little like fish too. They’re in the middle of a street market and he has to hold on to Cas’ arm so as not to fall over, and the idiot is grinning.

-‘Are you kidding me?!’ is all he can come up with.  
-‘Let’s go for a walk’ replies the angel as if all of this was the most natural thing in the world, and not letting go, he slides his arm under his and drags him along. They walk around the beautiful stone pillars and reality is hitting him in the face. First of all the huge door is dirty and covered in pigeons, they have to walk around it to flee from the loud area and find old stones lining the winding streets, black with people. If it was early in the States it’s midday here, but so cold, the sunlight gets caught in the almost frozen mist still hanging around the place and giving it an air of mystery. They walk through commercial streets and a large garden, reaching the river, nobody paying attention to the two Americans holding onto each other. Passing in front of a quaint bakery on the way Castiel drags him to the door, tells him to wait and comes back with two pains au chocolat which warm up their hands, the flakes falling off as they eat, the huge pecan pie long forgotten. Crossing the stone bridge leading across the river to an island, Cas reaches for his hand and Dean now feeling warmer simply decides not to pay attention. They’re not even the only men holding hand as they stroll for their lunches in this fairytale of a city. Dean can hear some English amongst the undecipherable languages spiraling around them, but he soon forgets to care, they’re all alone now, this place cannot be real, it’s too much at once. 

He’s in a cultural shock which doesn’t get better as they pass the island and reach another bridge, getting to Notre-Dame, upon the sight of which he stumbles and can no longer walk. As he stands there, ears ringing, he can feel Cas’ arm holding him, slid comfortably behind his back, and he feels safe. His angel is whispering something, comforting words that don’t reach his brain, but even when the shock passes he doesn’t want to move and feels himself leaning toward Castiel, that warm embrace which he can call home, here, lost in a far-away land.

It must have been those words, that thought of unreality, the too-much of it all, that let him slide his own arm around his best friend’s waist, under his trench coat where he feels warm. It must have been, as they took small step toward the beautiful stone structure, its intricate details and the massive passing of time it represents, that very unreal feel that let him set his head right up against Cas’ own face, cheeks touching, the cold burning between them. They found themselves sitting on a stone bench in front of it, not daring to look up at the immensity of it but instead turning to look at each other, Cas with his eternal smile, an overwhelmed Dean blushing. Cas’ right hand reached for his own, frozen he noticed now, so close now their noses red with winter brushing against one another, and it was Dean who moved just an inch closer, his lips tentatively reaching, the glint in the angel’s eyes shining just a little brighter, that pink flash of tongue peeking out, and they were grasping at one another as if they were each other’s sole source of heat, lips entangling and hair brushing, eyes seared closed so as not to let go, Dean pressing Cas’ back almost in panic. 

The angels on the cathedral must have turned to look, the gargoyle come down from their post. Dean might later on flay himself on the pink romantic comedy of it all, but he can’t just yet, because he has to face how perfect it is anyways when it’s happening to him. 

As they walk away, down toward other old stones, other abbeys, not having dared to look up really, Dean looking straight ahead not to become red in the face at the sight of a disheveled Cas, although he does sneak a peek when he think it’ll go unnoticed, they don’t let go of each other’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted them to travel... This was written for my own pleasure. I hope you liked it a little bit, whether you did or not don't hesitate to tell me why! C.


End file.
